


this is my kingdom come

by jaemarked



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Minor Violence, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaemarked/pseuds/jaemarked
Summary: In the sunlight, the king’s eyes look like pools of honey, and Mark can’t look away. The sword is removed from his skin, and is replaced by a hand gripping his chin. A gentle thumb swipes away the drop of blood blooming on his lower lip from when the knight had struck Mark in the face.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 28
Kudos: 258





	this is my kingdom come

**Author's Note:**

> this is for vic because i tweeted "give me a ship and a setting" and she replied w "markhyuck royalty"

The throne room glitters in gold when sunbeams shine through stained glass windows, casting a glow over the king’s face that makes him look almost ethereal. The Empire’s Heart has always valued gold, and the boy king perched upon the grand throne is nothing if not golden. His skin is a warm caramel, kissed by the Sun herself, and his hair the colour of straw, curling delicately around his ears. Even the gold crown atop his head, encrusted with diamonds, does not take away from his beautiful face with his large doe eyes, rounded cheeks, freckles dusting the bridge of his nose, and moles dotting his skin to form a constellation.

“Kneel,” a voice growls out, ringing through the silence. A knight clad in hefty silver armour shoves a man — no, a boy — to his knees. He hits the stone with a painful thud, his head hung low between his shoulders, a perfect mirror of the sun dipping below the horizon. 

Blood drips from the boy’s lips as the king stares, unimpressed. He rests his chin upon a curled fist, his elbow propped on the arm of the throne as he coolly observes the sight before him. The boy is dressed in tattered rags, his pale skin mottled with bruises no doubt left by the knight that had brought him here. Long dark hair hangs in front of eyes wide with unshed tears. 

“I found this pest stealing from the kitchens,” the knight snarls, and soon a foot is embedded in the boy’s ribs, sending him flying as he skitters across the stone, a pained yelp escaping from his lips. “I was informed by Lord Nikorov to bring him here.”

“Thank you, you did the right thing. You are dismissed,” the king says smoothly, and it’s a wonder how someone who looks so warm could sound so cold. The knight bows, exiting the throne room but not without throwing another disgusted glare over his shoulder at the boy sprawled on the floor, coughing weakly. More blood splatters on the stone beneath him and though the boy does not see it, the king’s eyes soften imperceptibly.

“Stand up,” the king commands, voice as harsh and cutting as the steel blade he produces from its sheath. The boy struggles to his feet, whimpering and wincing. He’s a pathetic sight, trembling on his feet. “Come here. Stand before me.”

The boy hesitates, and wisely. A peasant is never supposed to stand before a king. But he doesn’t hesitate for long, slowly approaching the throne on shaking legs, the perfect image of a newborn fawn. _How cute,_ the king thinks.

“You were so brave to steal from my kitchens, but now you tremble before me like a coward,” the king comments casually, but the words cut like knives and the boy flinches, eyes downcast. The king adjusts in his throne, sitting upright, his long legs stretched before him. “What is your name and position?”

“M-Mark Lee, Your Highness,” the boy says softly. “I work in the stables.”

“Mark Lee,” the king repeats, his tone almost patronizing, “tell me why you have dared to commit a crime against your king.”

“Um, I-I—” Mark stammers. “I apologize, Your Highness.”

“I did not ask for your apology,” the king spits, and watches as the boy flinches yet again. “I asked for your reasons.”

“F-For my family, Your Highness,” Mark murmurs, hunching in on himself. He knows the consequences of committing a crime against a king. 

He’s lucky that this king, in particular, is merciful.

“Explain, Mark, and you will not be punished.” The stable boy visibly startles, head snapping up so fast he must have felt pain in his neck, but he does not wince. The king has sheathed his sword and his eyes are no longer steely but warm and inviting, coaxing Mark to speak.

“My mother is ill,” Mark explains, his voice trembling. “She has not been able to work, and my siblings are starving.”

“Your mother is also on staff here?” The king inquires. His face is a carefully crafted mask, and Mark has no idea what he is thinking. Still, when a king asks, you are obligated to answer.

“Yes,” Mark replies. “She is a gardener, but lately she hasn’t been able to even find the strength to stand.”

“And what did the doctor say of your mother’s condition?” 

“Doctor?” Mark repeats, and the king takes in his confused state with a grimace. He thinks he knows what is coming, but he doesn’t like it. Oh, how he loathes to fire his trusted staff, especially when they have worked for his family for years.

“Yes, the doctor. Has your mother not been treated by a royal physician yet? We have many here at the castle, I’m sure one will be available soon,” the king informs him. 

“Your Highness,” Mark begins, faltering for just a moment before bravely continuing on. “I was informed that staff and servants were not permitted to seek the aid of the royal physicians.”

“That’s absurd!” The king exclaims, taken aback. His blank expression cracks and is filled with outrage at Mark’s words. “Who told you this?”

Mark hesitates again.

“Speak now, or lose your ability to speak forever,” the king warns, raising his sword. Mark gulps visibly, but does as he’s commanded.

“The stablemaster, Your Highness.”

The king closes his eyes, exhaling loudly and pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Mark’s gaze follows the movement and he’s unable to look away, fascinated by the freckles on the king’s skin.

The king is young and beautiful, everyone knows this. Many kings and queens from faraway kingdoms have requested his hand in marriage, but all requests were declined. Donghyuck Lee, the sole heir to the throne, quickly ascended in status when both his mother and father passed away unexpectedly. The boy king who looks like he was blessed by the Gods themselves. 

As nothing but a stable boy, almost as low in status as the runts on the streets, this is the first time Mark has ever been permitted so close, and he very well might not live to see another day, much less see the king again. So he drinks in the sight before him of the most beautiful being he’s ever laid eyes upon.

“I’ll deal with that later,” the king says through gritted teeth. Mark shivers at his words without meaning to. How terrifying. “As for you…”

The king stands from his throne and Mark immediately looks down at his feet. He should drop to his knees, he knows this, but for some reason he can’t move his legs. Instead he’s rooted where he stands as the king descends the steps, frozen in place. The king’s blade gleams in front of his eyes and it’s only a matter of seconds before Mark is beheaded for his crimes.

But instead, the sword kisses the bottom of his chin, and his head is forced up to meet the gaze of his king head-on. 

In the sunlight, the king’s eyes look like pools of honey, and Mark can’t look away. The sword is removed from his skin, and is replaced by a hand gripping his chin. A gentle thumb swipes away the drop of blood blooming on his lower lip from when the knight had struck Mark in the face. 

“You’re bleeding,” the king says softly, and Mark doesn’t know what to make of the sorrow evident in his eyes. His mind screams at him as panic flows through his body, but he’s paralyzed by the king’s captivating presence. 

He hears the sword being slid into its sheath once more, but he can’t look down. The king brings up a white, silk handkerchief embroidered with the family crest in gold thread. Before Mark can stop him, the king presses the cloth to the cut in his lip, and material that costs more than a week of Mark’s pay is sullied by his blood. 

“Y-Your Highness,” Mark whispers. The king can tell how conflicted he feels, unsure if he should be afraid. A moment ago, he was expecting to lose his head. Now, he’s not sure what to expect.

The throne room had felt cold, when he first walked in, but now Mark feels nothing but fire thrumming under his skin as he stares at the king. If anyone were to pass by, they would slaughter him for daring to look the king in the eye. 

But there is still a hand cupping his jaw, a handkerchief pressed to his lip, and a king staring directly into his eyes, and Mark can’t look away.

“Thank you for telling me the truth,” the king says, and his voice sounds so sweet, unlike before, and Mark has always been a fan of honey. When it drips from the king’s lips, he doesn’t favour it any less. “I promise you will be rewarded.”

“But Your Highness…” Mark protests. “I committed a crime, shouldn’t I be punished?”

“It seems you were punished enough,” the king comments, his hand slipping from Mark’s chin to brush his fingers lightly against his bruised throat from where the knight had grabbed him. Pain bursts white-hot in Mark’s vision and he moves back without meaning to. “And besides, it’s not a crime to eat, Mark. You have my permission to take from the kitchens whenever you need.”

“Your Highness…” is all Mark manages to say. He has no idea what to say or do. _Thank you_ , his mind screams, _say thank you!_ But he can’t force the words out, so he stays silent.

“How long have you worked in the stables, Mark?” The king asks, finally drawing away. Mark lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the king ascends the steps to the throne. 

“Four years, Your Highness,” Mark says, bowing his head. He runs his tongue over the cut in his lip that’s finally stopped bleeding, and tastes nothing but honey. The king sits gracefully on his throne, and in the dying rays of the sun, looks as if he’s made of fire, and Mark feels nothing but warmth. 

“How interesting,” the king hums. “It seems a position for stablemaster will be opening up soon.”

Mark’s eyes widen, and he feels a phantom sensation of a whip cracking across his back as he recalls the amount of times he had been struck by the current stablemaster for making a mistake. If what the king is implying is true, and he’s going to be promoted, he’ll finally have a stable income, and he’ll be able to provide for his family. Tears glimmer in his eyes, and a smile forms on his lips, and he looks so pretty when he’s not fearing for his life.

The king stares, fascinated. There’s something magnetizing about the boy in front of him, and he feels desire boiling in the pit of his stomach. He has never desired anyone before, much less a pitiful stable boy. And yet, here he is, a sensation of longing building up and threatening to burst. But Donghyuck is a king, first and foremost, and while he knows he can have anything he wants, he desires the chase. He wants Mark to want him, too. 

“I will send for a physician to see your mother,” the king says. “Take the rest of the evening off, and return to your duties tomorrow morning.”

Mark nods, sinking into a deep bow, his breath escaping shakily from his lips. He can’t believe his life was spared. He can’t believe his life is about to be improved. He was wrong — the king isn’t cold at all. 

“You are dismissed,” the king says with finality, and Mark makes to exit the throne room, a weight lifted off of his shoulders. “Oh, and Mark?”

Mark pauses in his tracks, turning to the king with his eyebrows raised in surprise. The king smiles radiantly, and his voice holds nothing but promise when he speaks again.

“Return to me tomorrow night,” is all the king says, and Mark nods. With one final bow, he leaves the room, exhaling quietly once the doors have shut behind him. He can’t deny that he’s terrified. He has no idea what’s about to come next. But he doesn’t even consider running away as he walks down the halls.

Because when a king calls, you have no choice but to answer. 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/jaemarkism)  
>  [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/jaemarked)


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